After The Storm (Men Made in America-- Mississippi)

by Flanders, Rebecca

  He held her tightly, burying his face in her hair. She twisted her arms around him until the muscles ached. She could feel his heartbeat and his warmth; she inhaled the scent of dusty denim and Kevin and felt the trickle of tears from her eyes that she couldn't seem to control. She didn't know why she was crying, and she didn't even want to know. She just wanted to hold him.

  His fingers threaded shakily through her hair, and she felt his lips lightly brush her temple. He cupped her face and lifted it gently to look at him. His eyes were very sober. "Do you remember you asked me once if I ever had nightmares?"

  She nodded.

  "I have, for the past six months. Every night. And they were all about losing you."

  She pressed her face against his shoulder again. "Oh, Kevin," she whispered. "All these months—why didn't you call me? Why didn't you...?"

  His arms tightened, and she felt his inhalation of breath. His voice was husky. "I started to. Every day, I had to make myself stop. I told myself I'd give it six months, to prove you were right." And then he took her shoulders, pushing her a little away. His eyes were dark, almost feverish, but his face was sober.

  "Katie," he said, "I have changed in some ways. Maybe you were right about that. No one faces death and remains completely unchanged. I've learned things about myself I never knew before, mostly what I want from life. In some ways I'm stronger, but in other ways I'm still the same." He took a breath, searching her eyes anxiously. "I can't be what I'm not for you. I can't turn into a genius overnight, or be a real hero, or a lot of the other things you want. I can only give you what I am, and maybe that's what you really need."

  She smiled through the tears that glimmered on her lashes; the smile seemed to go through her entire body. "Maybe it is," she whispered.

  She saw the hope in his eyes, and for a moment he seemed too moved to do anything but hold her arms, looking at her, questioning and uncertain. She reached up and touched his face lightly, unashamed of the slight tremor in her fingers. "Kevin," she said hoarsely, and pain crossed her eyes with the intensity of the statement. "I'm so sorry—for putting you through this, for hurting you this way. For risking everything. But I was afraid, don't you see? Of the challenge, of the change... of loving you."

  "And now?" It was barely a whisper.

  "I'm still afraid," she admitted. "A little. But I can't help loving you."

  Their arms closed around each other again, and they kissed. The intensity of his touch, of his lips meeting hers, went through Kate like liquid fire; it made her head roar and her pulse race out of control. Kevin was here. At last. Hers. Certainty and joy swelled between them, but even the kiss could not communicate it all, and when they parted, Kate was breathless with a dozen soaring, pulsating emotions, questions that needed to be asked, words that had to be spoken.

  But none of them were appropriate for this moment; none of them could begin to fill the emptiness that had been building inside them both for so long. Without a word, without even a shadow of hesitation or question, their hands linked, and they walked together into the bedroom.

  The magic had not faded. If anything, it was more intense, more precious and brilliant for having been so long lost and at last recaptured. Kate trembled as her clothing fell away and his kisses brushed her pliant skin like dew-drops. Her touch was more urgent, more greedy, as her eager hands pushed away his clothing, anxious for the sensation of his flesh against hers, for the familiarity of his scent and his taste. Yet he restrained her with tenderness and patience, holding back the fire that burned in his own eyes, determined to prolong the moment.

  Once before they had made love in surprise and discovery, the very newness of it pushing them over the heights. Another time they had discovered sensuality and giving, learning to be comfortable with each other and to derive pleasure from that openness. Tonight their bodies spoke a different message to each other, and it was one more beautiful, more enduring and meaningful, than any that had gone before. Tonight they came together because they belonged together and because it was forever.

  Katie felt the soft brush of his muscled legs against hers, the heat of his body that penetrated every cell of her own, and she thought with simple, wonderful, finality, Mine. With her fingertips she explored his lean planes and ropy muscles, adoring him, all of him, with a gentle, possessive certainty that opened a new dimension within her. For in that night, m that simple act of giving and sharing, they were no longer two separate identities, but one, just as it always should have been.

  His fingers, tender and adoring, memorized her body as though he had never known it before. The touch of his lips aroused her to new heights of pleasure and lulled her into sweet, dizzy anticipation. And when at last they joined, she looked into his eyes, soft and brilliant with adoration, and saw only the man she would always love.

  Their rhythm was slow and exquisite, intensifying not only sensation but emotion. The night stretched before them without end, and the moment captured would last forever. He entwined his fingers with hers; her lips played a delicate dance across his face. Thdr bodies were joined, but it was so much more than that. Their lives, too, were enmeshed with each other, their hearts and their souls inextricably entwined, and for all time.

  The passion built, and urgency drove them, yet when satisfaction was reached, there was more, far more, than physical fulfillment. For it was not the end of the journey, only the beginning.

  For a long time afterward they lay in each other's arms, stroking and holding each other, listening to the synchronization of their heartbeats. The night was still and benevolent around them. And even their minds, for a time, were stilled.

  Kevin propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her. His smile was slow and lazy, and he bent to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. "We've never made love in your bed before," he said.

  She caught his fingers, linking them with hers, bringing them up to rub gently against the side of her cheek. "For good reason," she reminded him. "Since I barely had a house when you were here before." And she looked up at him. "Thank you, Kevin," she said sincerely, "for fixing up my house. You got everything," she added a little wondrously, "even to the last detail, perfect."

  He smiled and dragged one finger playfully across the bridge of her nose. "I wanted you to think of me while I was gone. That was the only way I could think of to do it. And how could I forget anything about this place? Most of my dreams have centered around it, for longer than you would believe."

  She smiled at him. "And so are we going to live here or at your house?"

  He gave it very little thought. "Only one of the many problems that lie ahead for us, love. I imagine on that, like everything else, we'll have to learn to compromise."

  Her eyes went over him slowly, filling herself with him, just as he did with her. It wasn't happiness that filled her but something deeper, more abiding and deeply certain. For a moment it took her breath away, and all she could do was smile at him.

  When she could speak again, the only thing she could think to ask was "Who told you I was getting married?"

  A shadow crossed Kevin's face, and he dropped his eyes. She could feel him tense. "Your father. When he called, I thought it was you. And then he told me about Brandon and—it felt like a knife in my chest." He looked at her intensely. "I couldn't let you do it, Katie."

  Kate drew a breath, and she was as startled as he when it was released as a laugh. ''That interfering old busybody! I'm not marrying Jeff Brandon. I have been calling you all day, Kevin," she told him, "but not to talk about Jeff Brandon."

  Confusion and uncertainty were rampant on his face. "You called me? But—then why?"

  "To propose," Kate answered simply.

  His eyes widened, and he drew in his breath. "What?"

  "Well," she acceded demurely, "it occurred to me I'd better act fast, while I could still catch you between marriages."

  His laugh was soft and weak, and it went through her like a thrill as he drew her into his arms. "Oh, Katie," he murmure
d, "it can work. I told you it could." And he looked down at her. "With the end of this season, I'm leaving the show," he told her. "We'll have time, then, for each other. I want to start doing films and then study production—and if I do well, I'd like to have a studio here, in Victoria Bend. It's something I've always wanted, always thought about in the back of my mind, and now's the time to go for it."

  Kate's eyes were sparkling. "Jeff—the ex-Mr., Dr. Larimer—has agreed to take on more of the patient load, which will free my time, too. I guess—" and she lowered her eyes briefly "—one of the things I had to learn was to let go." Then she looked up at him. "Also, I've arranged to have two weeks off. So if we move fast, we might even have a honeymoon."

  They moved into each other's arms again, happiness and laughter bubbling between them in waves too great to be contained. A long time later, Kate murmured against his shoulder, "You didn't answer my question."

  He nuzzled her back. "What question?"

  She leaned back a little to look at him. "Will you marry me?"

  His eyes crinkled with the depths of a tender smile. "I think that was my line."

  "I'll answer your question," Kate whispered, "if you'll answer mine."

  They looked into each other's eyes for a long time, giving and receiving promises too deep and too binding for words. And then, in unison, they said, "Yes."

  REBECCA FLANDERS

  is a native of Georgia who began her writing career at age nine. She has been the author of numerous books for Harlequin, especially in the Harlequin American Romance line. Many of her novels are set in the Southern states—from Texas to Tennessee, and, in the case of After the Storm, Mississippi. She also writes as Donna Carlisle for Silhouette Desire.

  In what little spare time Rebecca has, she enjoys oil painting, and both listening to and writing music.

  This book made available by the Internet Archive.